A 9/11 ‘411’ on ’21

A fictional account of HOW I WOULD ATTACK SATCOIN SVEE, if I had:

• the greed-aligned ‘friends in high places’,
• > $30 billion in ill-gotten gains,
• lots of extra HODL-time (while not building anything worthwhile), and
• a perfect Chinese storm as a tailwind.

The redhead was crying. Loudly. In a billion dollar office which was 90% male. She was attractive, so everyone noticed the wailing immediately — even from the other side of the building where I was. She was particularly interested to the men in the office because she loved to drink. So much so, she even loved to show people her talent for projectile-vomting-as-sport in bar alleys, and she had ironicly told me about the pickled wordsmith Bukowski once: how he wrote an entire book that mocked Hollywood. That inside tip stayed with me as long as the vivid events of the attack that day.

I liked to watch the fights. Somehow it reminded me of writing. You needed the same thing, talent, guts and condition. Only the condition was mental, spiritual. You were never a writer. You had to become a writer each time you sat down to the machine. What was hard sometimes was finding that chair and sitting in it. Sometimes you couldn’t sit in it. Like everybody else in the world, for you, things got in the way: small troubles, big troubles, continues slamming and bangings. You had to be in condition to endure what was trying to kill you. That’s the message I got from watching the fights, or watching the horses run, or…